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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24344713">The Good Shrink</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/detectivejigsaw/pseuds/detectivejigsaw'>detectivejigsaw</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Flipside AU [12]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gravity Falls</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Basically the first sessions, Boys getting help, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, OC kind of an expy from "The Good Place", Okay more than kind of, Possibly some scary elements, Stan and Ford finally see a therapist, Stangst, will add more tags as I come up with them</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:55:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,901</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24344713</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/detectivejigsaw/pseuds/detectivejigsaw</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan and Ford meet their new potential therapist for the first time.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Filbrick Pines &amp; Stan Pines, Ford Pines &amp; Matilda Pines (OC), Ford Pines &amp; Stan Pines, Stan Pines &amp; Ford Pines &amp; OC, Stan Pines &amp; Matilda Pines (OC)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Flipside AU [12]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587223</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>108</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Sad Clown</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've been to therapy before, but it was for somewhat different reasons than these two, and I am also not a qualified therapist, so I probably won't spend a lot of time writing about how their therapy progresses because I'm not sure how a professional therapist would actually deal with all this junk.  I just want to make it clear that they're getting help.<br/>Sorry.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“O-kay, going three miles into the dark creepy forest, that’s not sending up any red flags at all…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh hush.”  Matilda steered the golf cart between two large oak trees, the wheels sending up a spray of fallen leaves as they moved.  She glanced over her shoulder at the two men sitting in the back.  “When have I ever steered you guys wrong?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You mean besides when you nearly took us over the edge of that cliff when you were trying to get a better look at some birds?” Stan deadpanned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or like right now, when we’re about to crash into that tree stump?!”  Ford hurriedly leaned over the backseat and grabbed the wheel, turning the cart in the nick of time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Sometimes you guys are way too literal,” Matilda grumbled.  But she did focus her attention back on her driving.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At last they coasted to a stop, right in front of the biggest tree Stan had ever seen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His knowledge of botany or horticulture or whatever was pretty limited, but he thought it was an oak.  But if so, it had to be the great-granddaddy of all oaks, because it was about as wide around as their living room, and so tall that he was surprised they couldn’t see it from town.  And there was a big green door carved right into the bottom of it-literally, it looked like someone had just cut a door shape into the bark and painted it green.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ford was gaping in awe, and (of course) taking the time to sketch it in his journal as they climbed out of the cart and approached it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Matilda glanced at the boys.  “You ready to go see her?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan gulped.  He thought about nights waking up gasping, and spending hours drawing out horrible memories in an attempt to get them out of his head; randomly feeling like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs because it felt like something terrible was about to happen; jumping and yelling like a maniac when he saw a wisp of smoke out of the corner of his eye that turned out to be just a scampfire who’d wandered into the yard.  Having to be woken up by shaking something next to him, because if someone touched him while he was asleep he would immediately start throwing punches.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nope,” he sighed.  “Let’s do it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Matilda marched up to the door.  She looked down at a slip of paper in her hand, and then knocked three times.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Janet?” she called.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A second later, there was a sound like a bell or a chime or something, and a voice behind them said, “Hi there!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan whirled around in alarm, already sliding his brass knuckles onto his hand just in case.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Standing at the edge of the cart was a woman with a long brown ponytail and a neat pair of spectacles, dressed in a neat purple and blue outfit and black high heels.  She gave him a beaming smile that was friendly enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello.  I’m your therapist, Janet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Somehow this is even weirder than that stomach-faced duck,” Stan said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ford elbowed him, and then said with his best polite smile, “...Greetings, Janet.  Or do you want us to call you Dr. Janet, or…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Janet is fine, Stanford,” she assured him.  She stepped closer, holding out a hand.  After a reluctant second, Ford shook it; if she noticed his extra finger, she was very good at not showing it.  Then she turned to Stan, who surreptitiously slid his knuckles back into his pocket before accepting the handshake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s up, doc?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Janet beamed.  “Very humorous, Stanley.  Now, which of you would like to see me first?  Or would you rather talk to me together?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boys looked at each other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You want me ta check her out first?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Stan asked with his eyes.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Make sure she’s safe?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ford gave her a thoughtful stare for a second, and then nodded.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They turned back to Janet.  “I’ll go first,” Stan said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All right.  Come with me, please.”  She walked briskly towards the door, and Stan followed her.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>The inside of the tree, when they stepped inside and closed the door behind them, turned out to be a blank white room.  No furniture, no decorations, no nothing.  Stan’s stomach lurched; this was already starting to feel sketchy-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hold still for a moment, please.”  And before he could react, Janet turned and cupped the back of his head in one hand, lightly resting her thumb over his temple.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the-!”  He tried to pull away, but her grip was surprisingly strong for someone with arms that skinny, and he was stuck in place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The chiming noise happened again...and the room changed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The walls turned a deep ocean blue, and developed a pattern that looked a little like ocean waves.  The floor became covered in a thick, fluffy-looking cream-colored carpet, and pictures of sailing ships and piles of gold appeared on the walls.  Right in front of them there materialized two comfortable-looking chairs that were the same blue as the walls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Janet released his head.  “There.  I apologize for startling you, Stanley.  In order to know how best to help you, I had to tap into a level of your subconscious to create an environment in which you would be most comfortable.”  She gestured to one of the chairs.  “Please, take a seat.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan hesitantly obeyed, still looking around the room.  He let out a small, appreciative whistle.  “Geez, lady, you could probably get a job as an interior decorator in your spare time or somethin’.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Janet beamed, sitting down in the other chair; she waved her hand, and a pencil and notepad appeared in it.  “Though technically I’m not an actual woman; I’ve just arranged myself into a form that your mind is capable of understanding.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan blinked.  “Say huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My real form is...difficult to explain,” Janet said, giving him a patient look.  “Let’s just say that you, or your brother, or anyone else in this dimension would not be capable of looking at it without your eyes exploding.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan blinked a couple of times.  He blinked again.  At last he said, “...Okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Janet straightened her skirt, and leaned back in her chair.  “Let’s begin, shall we?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Stan leaned back too.  “...Is this the part where you ask me about my mother?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is your session, Stanley.  We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Great.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While on the one hand it was nice knowing that he was basically in charge of the conversation, it also meant having to think about what he wanted to say next, and being extra careful about </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> he said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...How about we start by talking about how you’re feeling today?” Janet asked at last.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan shrugged.  “Oh, I’m fine.  I finally got ta go back ta work this week, and it was nice ta get outta the house and give tours again-did you know I give tours?  I show different anomalies and stuff what humans are like, cuz a lotta them haven’t actually been around humans all that much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His stomach twisted with nervousness when he saw how fast Janet was writing in her notebook.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When did you start this business?” she asked without looking up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Last year, after I moved out here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Interesting; I haven’t heard about these tours, but they do sound like they could be useful tools for some creatures.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Heh.  Yeah.”  Stan decided not to mention the “idiot boxes” or the “copyright monster” that were a favorite stopping area for many monsters.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For a few minutes Janet just asked him questions about himself-what was it like living with his brother, what he liked to do, what his favorite food was.  Honestly, the kind of stuff you might ask someone you were on a first date with.  Stan guessed it was just for her to gather information about him, since this kind of </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> a first date-a first therapy date.  So far, though, he wasn’t feeling very therapied, or whatever the word was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you have other family besides your brother?” Janet suddenly asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The question blindsided Stan, and he felt his shoulders stiffen for a moment before he pulled himself together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh-yeah, we got our parents and an older brother, Shermie.  He’s got a wife and kid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me about them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So Stan described Shermie’s little family unit, and how they were going to come visit him and Ford in June; he talked about their mom and her phony psychic business, what a hoot </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> was, especially when she let him help out with suggestions for what to tell her clients.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he finished, Janet asked, “And what about your father?  I notice you’ve been avoiding talking about him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Crap</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan gave a little shrug.  “Eh, he’s...he’s an okay guy.  He’s got a pawn shop in Jersey, he taught us everything he knows about fleecing rubes and gettin’ thanked for the privilege-</span>
  <em>
    <span>what the-!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was suddenly a clown standing right next to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A clown in one of those big, baggy white outfits from that one Italian opera his mom liked-</span>
  <em>
    <span>Pagliacci</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that was what it was called.  Just like most clowns, his face was painted white, with a bright red nose and a big red smear that looked like a smiling mouth.  However, his eyes were circled with black makeup that then ran down his cheeks like teardrops, and his real mouth was clearly set in a frown.  He was standing stock still, except for his hands, which were juggling three brightly colored balls in a steady, slow rhythm, while gloomy calliope music played.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Janet reassured him, “he’s not going to hurt you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s he </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing</span>
  </em>
  <span> here?!” Stan demanded, scooting as far away as he could get from the creepy clown.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As I told you when we began this session, I had to tap into a layer of your subconscious.  This is just a manifestation of it at work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...So there’s a clown in my brain?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Apparently.”  Janet’s pencil was moving so fast he was surprised not to see smoke rising from the paper.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It is your brain, Stanley.  I think you know why he’s there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Cuz I’m good at makin’ people laugh?” he offered.  Even though he was beginning to suspect what she was getting at, he didn’t want to say it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perhaps,” Janet agreed neutrally.  The clown switched the balls to only one hand, and continued juggling them while he pulled a set of clubs out of his pocket, even though they should not have been able to fit in there.  Without missing a beat, he began juggling them too.  The calliope music increased in volume.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan gritted his teeth.  “Look, okay, I have a few issues with my pop, but I dealt with them, and I’m over it.  That’s not important ta me anymore-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The clown was suddenly riding on a unicycle, and balancing a bowl of petunias on his head, while continuing to juggle.  The dark eye makeup had started running freely down his face, dripping in long dark streams down his jaw and the edge of his chin, and the big red smile was widening, looking like it was about to fall off-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, my dad kicked me out cuz I made a stupid mistake when I was a teenager and told me I could never come home without makin’ a million dollars!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The unicycle, the juggling things and the flowerpot vanished.  The clown sagged, taking a few deep breaths, and then pulled a long string of colorful handkerchiefs from his pocket.  When he got the last one out, a red one with white polka dots, he used it to quite literally wipe that smile off his face.  And, as he might have suspected, Stan saw that the face under the makeup was his own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That must have been so hard,” said Janet, frowning sympathetically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It didn’t do me any favors when we got attacked by the pain-eaters,” Stan muttered, looking down at his fists.  To his surprise, the Stan-clown wandered over and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, before vanishing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you like to talk about that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure, whatever.  That’s what we’re payin’ you for, right?”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>By the time he finished talking about the incident with the pain-eaters, Stan felt so drained inside-like his intestines had been scooped out with a giant spoon, and all that was left was hollowness.  But in a weird way, he guessed it had felt kind of...refreshing, to tell someone else how terrifying it was to have been so helpless to save his brother or himself, even when they thought they were prepared for anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That happens sometimes,” Janet said softly.  “We think that we have prepared for any outcome to a situation, and then it turns out that there was something we overlooked, or that we in no way could have predicted, and it creates problems that thoroughly blindside us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well </span>
  <em>
    <span>duh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Stan already knew about that being a thing, he’d experienced it more than enough in his lifetime.  He just nodded, staring down at his hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, it’s about time for me to talk to your brother,” Janet said, looking down at a watch that had suddenly materialized on her wrist.  “Should we schedule for the same time next week?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Depends on if we get a lotta tourists.  But if we don’t, sure, why not.”  Stan wasn’t sure how much this was going to help him, but Matilda and Dan thought they needed it, and if Ford was gonna keep coming he might as well too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, Stanley.”  Janet beamed at him.  “It’s been a pleasure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And she walked with him to the door.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Monster</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ford couldn’t help anxiously checking Stan over when he came out of the tree; he looked a little pale, but otherwise unharmed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he saw Ford, he smiled weakly and ambled over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did it go?” Ford asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eh, it was mostly her tryna get ta know me.  But I think she’s okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Translation: Stan didn’t think that she was another Bill.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ford relaxed, and turned towards Janet, who was standing next to the door and smiling patiently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shall we?” she asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He followed her inside.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>To his surprise, the room he stepped into was very...blank.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An empty white space, devoid of even furniture or art.  It kind of reminded him of the science lab at Backupsmore, whose budget had not allowed for a lot of equipment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hold still, please.”  And Janet suddenly took his head in her hand, pressing her thumb against his forehead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ford had never been comfortable being touched by strange people; he immediately startled, but he was unable to pull away.  And then a second later he forgot all inclination to do so, when the room began to change around him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The walls and floor changed to a dark wood paneling, save for a round, dark green carpet in the middle of the room; two green armchairs and a coffee table materialized on the carpet, along with a glass pitcher of water, two glasses and a box of tissues.  A large window appeared, giving him a view of the nearby pine trees, and a small chandelier formed over their heads, bathing the room in a soft golden light. Even a few potted plants appeared in the corners, until it looked very much like Ford imagined a typical psychiatrist’s office.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In order to create an environment that would be most comfortable for you, I am tapping into the upper levels of your subconscious,” Janet explained, releasing him and gesturing for him to take a seat.  Ford, however, was too busy turning slowly, mouth agape.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This...is remarkable.  How did you </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The simplest explanation you’d understand is that it’s magic.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span>?  There are multiple types of spellcasters in this forest alone, but I haven’t seen any of them capable of doing this, the closest they could manage would be some types of the Fair Folk forming this as an elaborate illusion-” he reached out and poked one of the chairs; it was substantial, so not an illusion- “or simply by putting me to sleep and doing this while in my mindscape.”  Just considering that gave him chills, but again he reminded himself that Stan trusted her at least a little.  Besides, he was 55% sure that he was awake right now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Janet adjusted her glasses.  “How about we focus on </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>for the time being, Stanford, and I can try to explain this at another time?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ford smiled sheepishly, and took a seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right.  Sorry.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>As Stan had said, Janet started off by asking Ford some routine questions about himself-how he was feeling, what he did for a living, etc.  Ford admitted that he was trying to develop better eating and sleeping habits since Stan had come to live with him, but he still struggled with the concepts a little, especially after their recent trauma.  He was also planning to get his third phD soon, in another of the science fields, because maybe furthering his education could help him with his research on Gravity Falls, why it attracted so many unusual creatures.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought I met someone who could help me with that last summer...but it didn’t work out.”  Ford looked at the table with a grimace.  He wasn’t sure why he said the next part, but it came spilling out anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was only because Stanley was there to help me realize Bill wasn’t what he appeared to be, and convince me not to trust him, and then force him to leave by unraveling his entire plan.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Janet finished writing on her notepad, and looked up at him.  “And how did that make you feel?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Relieved.  But also...ashamed.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She tilted her head.  “Why do you feel ashamed?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because if Stan hadn’t been there to see through Bill’s flattery, I would have fallen for it hook, line and sinker.  And the only reason he was there was because-” he faltered- “because a sort of soothsayer told him he had to come and mend things with me or I would destroy the world.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Janet pursed her lips.  “Yes, Stanley told me about what happened with your father.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It wasn’t just him, though!  It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>!  I rejected him after a lifetime of friendship and loyalty the first real time that he caused me harm, and after that he only felt safe trying to reconnect with me when the safety of the world was at stake!  What does that say about me?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ford stood up, and found himself pacing back and forth in agitation.  “Stanley </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>would have done that to me, so how could I have done it so easily!  How could I be such a-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He froze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A what, Stanford?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A number of possible insertions flittered across Ford’s thoughts-</span>
  <em>
    <span>jerk, horrible brother, narrow-minded, arrogant, selfish [CENSORED]</span>
  </em>
  <span>-but the one he finally went with was, “...monster.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When Ford turned around, there was something else sitting in his chair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It looked a little like Ford, except it had fangs, and long, cruel-looking claws, and red scaly skin and large tufts of shaggy fur everywhere, and a tail coiling in the air.  It was holding a West Coast Tech brochure clenched in its claws, and you couldn’t see its eyes, because it was wearing a pair of very familiar sunglasses, but it looked angry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ford’s stomach lurched.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That must be from my subconscious</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the part of his brain that could never be turned off observed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my,” Janet murmured, setting aside her notes and standing up.  She stepped closer, inspecting the monster with her head tilted to the side.  It growled at her, and shuffled further back into the chair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look hungry,” she addressed the monster; it growled again, deeper, and a wisp of steam curled from its nostrils.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve spent a lot of time letting him grow,” Janet observed, “but thankfully not enough for him to completely consume you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...What does that mean?” Ford demanded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Everyone has some kind of monster inside,” Janet said.  “It can be rage, greed, jealousy-basically any or all of the seven deadly sins.  The amount of strength that they have, though, depends on how much you feed them.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“For the last five years, you’ve been feeding this one your anger and hurt over your lost chance to go to that college.  And even though you’ve stopped feeding it, that doesn’t mean it’s going to go away easily.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ford felt even more shame curdling in his stomach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“However,” Janet turned to look straight at him, “that doesn’t have to define who you are.  You are far more than your past mistakes, or the monster you’ve allowed to grow.  You can learn from those mistakes, and do whatever you can to repair the damage you’ve done-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>How</span>
  </em>
  <span>?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he knew it, Ford was shouting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How can I even </span>
  <em>
    <span>begin</span>
  </em>
  <span> to fix the damage I’ve done to Stanley?!  I’ve been horrible to him, and he spent years being thrown out of different states and starving and having people try to flat-out murder him because I abandoned him, and I’ve looked into if there’s anyone who’s invented time travel but so far all my efforts have been fruitless which means there’s nothing I can do to take it back!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He took a few deep breaths, gulping and blinking, realizing as he did that his face was wet.  The monster was breathing heavily in unison with him, and its fangs were bared, looking like it was seconds away from leaping from its seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A moment later, Janet handed him a tissue from the box; he acted on autopilot and used it while taking a moment to compose himself.  The monster shrank back down into the chair, growling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re right,” she said when he looked at her again, “you can’t change the past.  But does Stanley know you’re sorry for how you treated him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ford gave a small nod.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you do whatever you can now to help him feel valued and loved?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ford, getting the gist of what she was saying, looked away irritably.  “It doesn’t feel like enough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The monster lifted the brochure to its mouth and bit off a large corner, chewing noisily and with no respect for table manners whatsoever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Janet sighed.  “If possible, I think I need to give you sibling counseling to help you deal with this more effectively.  Do you mind if I schedule your next appointments to be simultaneous?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He cringed a little at the idea of Stan getting to see the monster, who by now was halfway done with the brochure, but if it would help them heal…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If Stan’s all right with it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded.  “That’s fair.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The monster, as it swallowed the last pieces of the West Coast Tech brochure, actually looked different.  Ford couldn’t put any of his twelve fingers on it, but something about the shape of its face had become less...monstrous.  As he watched, the monster belched, and then slowly faded away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This was very useful for helping me figure out how to treat you, Stanford,” Janet said, beaming at him.  “We’ve only got a little time left, so is there anything else you’d like to talk about?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hesitated.  “...Can I maybe ask you some questions about your abilities?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sighed.  “I really should have seen this coming.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>What can I say-I get a kind of unholy satisfaction out of making Ford cry.</p>
<p>Stan cringes a little at the idea that they're going to be getting the equivalent of couples counseling, and he's not sure he wants Ford to see the sad clown that lives in his subconscious, but his reaction is similar to his brother's: if it'll help them heal, it's worth it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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